


The Worth Of My Life

by mad_top_hatter



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Good Person Steve Harrington, Hurt Steve Harrington, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Steve Harrington Has Nightmares, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Steve Harrington-Centric, Steve Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-02-18 20:15:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13107738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mad_top_hatter/pseuds/mad_top_hatter
Summary: Steve's doing alright. Even though the silhouettes of demo-dogs stalk his dreams and the sting of heartbreak lingers within his chest, he's fine. Steve Harrington is fine as long as he can lie to not only himself but everyone around him.(A Steve-centric fic where Steve isn't okay, following S2. Title is based off Mercury by Sleeping at Last)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, I love Steve Harrington so here' some whump. I'm not sure how long this will be but I do want some hurt! Steve receiving comfort so here this is.

            Steve wasn’t sure what he felt when he tore his gaze away from Nancy. He’d watched Dustin enter the building, adorned with the best of Steve’s advice, and the teenager would be lying if he said he didn’t feel some level of fondness. The faux older brother role was new to him yet comforting, as if he was meant to play the part.

            The role of the ex-boyfriend was a different story.

            He’d been the ex-boyfriend before, naturally, but he usually either initiated the break up or had lost interest. As Steve tore his gaze away from Nancy, accompanied by a squeezing in his chest that touched his heart, he knew that whatever part he played was painful. As he imagined the look on Nancy’s face when she was near Jonathan, though, he knew he picked the right part.

            It didn’t comfort him enough to keep him from bolting home in his car.

            *

            The emptiness of Steve’s house existed on the boundary of cozy and uncomfortable. He felt small by himself in such a large house, but the empty rooms and hallways brought with them a sense of normalcy—something he felt had slipped through his fingers in the past months. Nancy didn’t love him _like that_ anymore. She gave him soft smiles in the school hallway, but Steve couldn’t whisk her off her feet, spin her around, and kiss her like usual. He even found himself making wrong turns while driving to school, as if Nancy was waiting in her house for him to drive her there. He would always stop himself before her house came into view.

            Instead, Steve would often end up at the Henderson’s house, picking up Dustin and whoever else needed a ride in order for the kids to all convene somewhere. After Steve healed from his Billy-inflicted concussion and other injuries, the kids even offered him a spot in their dungeons and dragons campaign, though Steve turned them down. He pretended he was above it, but secretly, he was glad the kids wanted him around.

            Steve eyed the clock in his kitchen after entering his house, reminding himself of when to pick Dustin up as he opened his fridge. He gazed at the cases of beer haphazardly thrown in the shelves, his tongue twisting in his mouth contemplation. Alcohol could help his low mood, but he wasn’t about to drive Dustin around while smashed. And a light buzz wouldn’t suffice—if he drank, he wanted to get drunk.

            Sighing, Steve trekked upstairs, collapsed on his bed, and set his alarm to wake him in a few hours.

            *

            Steve woke up ten minutes before his alarm, drenched in sweat with his heart beating erratically. Another change that happened within the past few months was nightmares. He had his fair share from last year—dreams about the Demogorgon chasing him through the Byers’ house—but they never occurred in succession and were rarely vivid. The demo-dogs weren’t as kind to Steve’s unconscious mind.

            Each dream was different, though they all ended the same. The demo-dogs would either maul him or someone he cared about, and he’d wake up in a panic as his mind tried to reconfigure reality. The dreams were common, too, to the extent where fear would keep Steve’s eyes open. He’d only been able to fall asleep so easily because the memory of the Snowball Dance made him almost forget that Hawkins was a hot spot for the supernatural.

            Suddenly, his house felt far too big and capable of hiding entities in its shadowy crevices, and Steve decided he’d rather be anywhere but there.

            *

            “How was it?” asked Steve.

            Dustin slid in the passenger side of Steve’s car, small portions of his hair messed from Steve assumed was exertion.

            “Alright.”

            Steve began driving towards the Henderson’s house. “Alright? _Just_ alright? C’mon, there’s no such thing as a dance that’s _alright._ ”

            Dustin let out a sigh. “Well, I asked a girl from my class to dance with me, but she just walked away.”

            “Aw, shit, Dustin, I’m sorry. Middle school dances aren’t even a big deal, so even if no one danced with you-“

            Dustin fumbled nervously in his seat. “Actually, someone did dance with me.”

            Steve arched an eyebrow, peering at the kid through his peripherals. Of course someone danced with the little heartthrob, he told himself. Dustin had him as mentor, after all.

            “It was Nancy, Nancy danced with me…” Dustin’s voice trailed off.

            Pulling into the Henderson’s drive way, Steve clutched the steering wheel while he gave Dustin a once-over. The kid was fumbling with his hands, fingers slightly trembling as if he was scared to witness Steve’s reaction, his mouth curling in trepidation.

            “Hey, hey, what’s with that look? That’s great, bud.”

            “B-But I thought you’d—nevermind. I was the only loser there without a partner, so I guess Nancy felt bad,” mumbled Dustin.

            “Nancy danced with you because she wanted to. Trust me, you’re a cool kid. Not that it was a good life decision, but not many people can say they had some interdimensional lizard as their pet.”

            Dustin laughed at that. Steve reached over and ruffled the kid’s hair, locks still somewhat sticky with hairspray. Dustin reached up to swat away the hands in a futile attempt to preserve his hair.

            “Alright shithead, don’t keep your mom waiting in there.”

            Dustin put one foot out of Steve’s car before stopping. “Hey, Steve, do you want to go over Will’s tomorrow for a D&D session?”

            Steve curled his lip inward. “Ah, come on, aren’t you guys already in the middle of a campaign or whatever?”

            “We can work you in somehow. It’ll be fun—I even convinced Mike to give you a free roll when you pick your stats.”

            Steve had no idea what that meant, but he gave Dustin a smile anyway. The little shits really wanted him to join that badly, huh? “Fine, fine, I’ll stop by, okay?”

            “Cool! It’s going to be at six! And since you’re already driving over there-“

            “Yeah, I’ll give you a ride.”

            “Thanks, Steve.”

            With that, Dustin gave a goodbye and entered his house. Steve saw Mrs. Henderson open the front door and gave her a weak wave from his seat before pulling out from the driveway.

            Once Steve was home, he found himself sprawled on his bed again. His life had been a whirlwind of changes, but as he wiped his hands together in an attempt to remove the residual hairspray left by Dustin’s hair, he realized not all of them were unwelcome.

            It helped him fall asleep.

                       


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, so I don't have a scheduled day or anything for these updates. I'm off from school for a while but my work schedule tends to fluctuate, but there shouldn't be anymore than a week (at the latest) between these updates. If something comes up that might prolong these periods, I will mention it. Anyway, Thanks so much for all the reception and whatnot! I really appreciate you guys showing support for this.

            Steve wasn’t surprised when he jolted out of bed later that night—no, rather early morning. A demo-dog had been chasing him through some sort of labyrinth, and before he was tackled and assumedly eaten, Steve found himself sitting upright on his bed. Slowly, he loosened his tight grip on his sheets, bringing up the backs of his hands to rub his eyes. He sighed—the dream hadn’t riled him up like its predecessors, but it served as a testament to what would wait if he drifted to sleep again.

            So, he roamed around his house. Steve turned on any nearby lights—if he could see any darkness, the shadows would contort in the corner of his eyes. He chalked it down to sleep deprivation, considering a lack of sanity was territory Steve didn’t want to encroach on. If he could keep himself distracted, then he was alright. That’s how he ended up, pacing back and forth under the bright lights of his kitchen. He contemplated the alcohol again, but with darkness peering through the windows, he feared how his inebriated mind would perceive his surroundings. His fingers worked their way through his thick hair, palm meeting his forehead in frustration.

            Steve saw his car keys and made his escape.

            *

            He drove around aimlessly. The roads were deserted save for Steve’s car as it retook routes with no sense of direction. After a while, Steve frowned at the sight of his dash, seeing his tank go below half. The confines of the road felt too strict as well, so left his car on the edge of the pavement. Zipping his jacket up, Steve took a mental note of where he parked and began to traverse through the woods.

            He swore inwardly, because he had a plethora of reasons to not do what he was doing. The girl—Eleven—had closed the gate, but the Demogorgon or demodogs or whatever were creatures from another dimension. Steve couldn’t rule out the possibility of the monsters finding a way through to his world again, and the woods had been a hotspot for their activity, from what he’d heard from Nancy and Jonathan.

            But, if he saw them in the woods, would it even matter? They plagued his mind at home and in his dreams, would it really matter if he saw them again? Steve swore at himself again, halfheartedly laughing to himself at the almost poetic tone his thoughts carried. Of course it would matter—an actual Demogorgon and a Demogorgon created from Steve’s sleep deprived mind would differ. One had the potential to kill him.

            If only reality and fiction didn’t blur together so well, maybe Steve could have stayed home.

*

            After walking for what felt like a good ten minutes or so, Steve sat amidst the scattered leaves dotting the forest floor, pulling his jacket closer to his body. Fuck, he was starting to feel cold. He was cold in the middle of the woods, and had no idea where he parked his car. He would find it, he had thought to himself before delving deeper into the woods about ten minutes ago. And damn it all, it was his pattern of thinking that always caused shit to get fucked. Steve didn’t plan things, just hoped they would work out. He let his instincts take the wheel rather than rational thinking, and while sometimes it helped in the heat of the moment such as with the demodogs, it wasn’t always effective. If he believed everything would be okay, then maybe somehow everything would work out.

            He saw the flaws in that way of thinking when Nancy couldn’t say she loved him.

            “Hey!”

            A deep voice shook through Steve. Already on edge from being lost in the middle of wherever, he bolted up and tried to run only to feel a hand clasp around his shoulder, pulling him backward. Steve tensed for a moment, not looking at his assailant, but noted the feeling of fingers, Human fingers were latched around his shoulder, grip tight but not threatening. Not the long tendrils belonging to the Demogorgon he saw at the Byers’ house.

            “What the hell are you—kid?”

            No, it hadn’t been a Demogorgon at all. Steve spun around to see the tired face of Jim Hopper.

*

            “Care to tell me what the hell you were doing out there?”

            Steve sat at Hopper’s table, the chief taking him back to his cabin after their encounter. It had been silent the entire walk there—Steve didn’t even know why he followed the chief as long as he did. When Hopper offered a warm cup of tea, Steve thought it had been a good idea. Then, the talking started.

            “What do you mean?” Steve asked, fingers curled tightly around the warm mug. They had started to burn with cold while in the woods.

            Hopper crossed his arms. “You know damn well what I mean. Kid like you just wondering the woods in the dead of morning? That’s not normal, and you know it.”

            “I was just—I had a lot on my mind and I needed some fresh air,” muttered Steve.

            Hopper raised a brow. “Really?” he asked, voice monotone. “Just talking a walk out in the woods?”

            Steve frowned at the cop’s disbelieving tone. “Don’t believe me, I don’t care. But you were out there, too. What’s someone like you doing wandering around the woods?”

            “I’m a cop.”

            “You’re not in uniform.”

            Hopper let out an exasperated sigh, rubbing the creases on his forehead. “Fine, kid. Let’s say you just needed some fresh air. Why the hell come all the way out here?”

            Steve shrugged. “I don’t know, I just started driving around and then I got out and just started … walking.”

            “So you ditched your car somewhere nearby? C’mon,” said Hopper, rising from his seat, “let’s get you home before your parents notice you’re gone.”

            Steve stiffened in his seat—he didn’t want to go home. “My uh …my parents aren’t even home. So it doesn’t really matter if I’m there or not.”

            “You can’t sleep, can you?”

            Steve choked on his tea. “What? I didn’t say that.”

            “It’s okay. Nightmares?”

            “What the hell?” asked Steve, incredulously, bolting up from his seat. He eyed the exit. “Look, I was just in the woods. There’s not some deeper meaning bullshit behind it, okay? And you” paused Steve, pointing an accusatory finger, “were out there, too! So can you stop with all the questioning?”

            “I was out there for the same reason as you.”

            Steve felt all the fight leave his body. His legs felt weak beneath him and he slumped back down into Hopper’s chair.  And Hopper—Hopper just stared at him with a look of understanding in his eyes.   
            Despite that, Steve knew there would be more talking. When Hopper pointed to the couch and threw a pillow and blanket at Steve, Steve realized it would wait until the morning.

            He had until then to pull himself together.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> steve makes great life decisions . also i have no idea what the legal drinking age was back in Hawkins in 1983/4 ...I'm kind of writing this under the assumption that the legal drinking age was 21, but there's not going to be any underage drinking drama where steve gets locked up for 69 years for drinkign lol.

When Steve jolted out of his makeshift bed that morning, it wasn’t because of being pursued or watching mutilation at the hands of the Demogorgon. In fact, he hadn’t been woken from his deep sleep at all, the fear only making its entrance as Steve slowly opened his eyes. Someone was staring down at him with concentrated eyes, and Steve yet out a yelp before realizing just who it was.

            “Scared…” mumbled Eleven.

            “Jesus,” gasped Steve. He ran fingers through his thick hair. “Why were you just staring at me? Nearly gave me a heart attack.”

            Eleven looked down to the side. “I’m sorry…”

            And jeez, Steve was used to dealing with the shitheads—he was used to them arguing about every little thing with him to the extent that some playful rudeness could be involved. He never really interacted with Eleven. “Ah, it’s alright.” The kid had probably been asleep when Steve arrived earlier, he couldn’t blame her curiosity.

            Eleven nodded after that, a tiny smile appearing on her face before Steve was distracted by a clicking sound.

            “You good with eating waffles?” called Hopper. The chief stood by a toaster, filling a plate stacked with them. Steve saw Eleven nod. “I know you are,” Hopper said, gesturing towards the girl. Before Steve could respond to the question, his own plate with waffles was shoved into his hands.

            “Get some food in ya, and then I’ll drive you home.”

            Steve raised his brow. “My car’s still on the road somewhere.” He lifted his keys and jangled them around for emphasis.

            Hopper grabbed them out of his hand. “Kid, just show me where your car is and after I take you home, I’ll deliver your car. You still look exhausted.”

            Steve snorted. “You don’t look well-rested yourself, either.”

            “I’m not the one that forgot how to get back to their car.”

            With that, Steve relented.

*

            Eleven had been left at Hopper’s cabin, the chief telling her he was only going to be out a few minutes as both he and Steve loaded up into his car. “If you decide to talk, I don’t think she needs to hear it,” began Hopper.

            “Who said I was going to talk?” scoffed Steve.

            Hopper rolled his eyes before starting the car. “Jesus, I’m not asking you to spill everything out. I thought we reached an understanding earlier, kid.”

            Steve curled his lips in contemplation—Hopper had admitted to his own inability to sleep. “Okay, I have nightmares. Happy?”

            Hopper pulled to the side of the road. “I figured that out last night. I get it, okay?” began Hopper, gripping his steering wheel. “I get that you don’t want to be open with me—that’s fine. What’s not fine is the fact that you could have gotten hurt in those woods if I hadn’t found you.”  Hopper closed his eyes for a few moments, released his grip on the steering wheel, and then turned to face Steve. “I just … I need you to be honest with what you say. I don’t want to hear that’s nothing wrong only to find your body days later.”

            Steve fumbled uncomfortably in his seat, because God, he knew about Hopper’s daughter. It was a source of gossip that would sometimes make its rounds through Hawkins, and of course Steve had heard it from none other than Tommy and Carol themselves. And damn, Hopper wasn’t his dad or anything, but Steve knew how loss felt and the sense of redemption and coping that laced itself within heartache. He knew how much Hopper cared about others, regardless if they were related or not.

            “It’s,” began Steve, stumbling over his words, “I just keep seeing that _thing_ in my dreams. Sometimes, I’m at the Byers house and it’s there, and then sometimes, I’m in those tunnels with the demodogs. And I can’t—“ Steve paused, his voice breaking at the end.

            “You don’t have to say it.”

            “I can’t save any of them. Fuck, I watch those shitheads get torn apart in the tunnels and it’s so real and—shit.”

            Hopper patted him on the head. “That’s enough, kid. You don’t have to say anymore.”

            Steve was grateful for that. Because there was too much to say.

*

            They found Steve’s car, it wasn’t that hard of a task considering Steve ditched it by the road. Hopper muttered the location to himself, and then both continued driving to Steve’s house.

            “I get them a lot, too. The nightmares, I mean,” began Hopper. It had been silent since Steve opened up, Hopper apparently soaking in everything Steve said and Steve still reeling from it all. “I just want you to know you’re not alone in this. Hell, I’m sure those kids get nightmares, too.”

            Steve let out an empty laugh. “I’m not going to bother them with something like this,” he mumbled.

            “My point is, is that you can talk to someone if you feel the need.” Steve’s house finally came into sight, along with a sense of discomfort inside his stomach. Barb was technically killed on his property, even if it ended in the Upside Down. The Demogorgon still had found her by his pool.

            “Alright,” said Hopper, parking the car. “Just … take care, kid, alright? I’ll swing by later with Joyce to drop off your car, so don’t worry about it. I’ll drive it back to my place in the meantime so no one messes with it.”

            Steve nodded—it wasn’t like he was worried about the car. Hopper didn’t seem intent on letting Steve drive it yet, either, and car delivery was somewhat of a two-person job. Whatever, he didn’t have any plans anyway—though there was a nagging feeling in the back of his head he was forgetting something. Shit, with everything going on, Steve let it slide.

            His parents still weren’t home—not a surprise at all, though he had been somewhat hopeful. It wasn’t like their company was great or anything—Ted Wheeler was almost a mirror image of Steve’s own father, and his mother was almost like his accessory. But they were still company, still things that could make his house feel a little less empty.

            At least his fridge wasn’t empty. Shelved cans of beer greeted him when he opened the door. As Steve reached for one, he mentally berated himself because not even five minutes ago did Hopper promise to swing by later. Yet, his fingers still made contact with the cool can. Hopper was just dropping off a car, he didn’t need to come inside. So Steve grabbed the can and downed it, not caring that the clock read just past noon. He needed it—needed the haze that alcohol would give him.

            Plopping onto his couch, he drank with determination until that coveted buzz worked its way into him. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth, it moved sluggishly as Steve crumbled up another can, throwing it join the crumbled mess on the ground.  Amidst his haze, he heard the phone ring—not that he was going to answer it. Instead, he let it ring while he popped upon another can.

            In his inebriated state, he lost a sense of a time. He had slowed down on the beers, but still had one on his lips, not ready to begin sobering up just yet. It felt good—the haze that covered everything. Even though the Demogorgon lingered in his mind, he wasn’t unnerved thinking about it. It all felt distant, so far that nothing could reach Steve. He just needed a few more hours of it—just a few hours of his perception being so skewed that he felt safe.

            He brought the can up to his lips again, and then the liquid splashed onto his lips, some drops falling onto his shirt when he jumped. A loud knocking sound broke through the silence of his house, and it took Steve a few seconds to realize it was coming from his front door. Shit.

            “Steve? It’s Hopper—kid, can you open the door?” He sounded concerned, like an angry concerned.  That was all Steve’s mind could supply. Steve looked at the mess of beer cans that surrounded him, and all he knew was that he didn’t want to be found like that. He rose slowly from the couch, but his legs were unstable. As soon as he took a step, his leg buckled beneath him and he crashed to the ground, grunting when his face hit the scratchy carpet below.

            “The doors not locked, can’t I just go in and check on him?” Steve heard another voice. Dustin. The kid’s voice was fast.

            Right. Dungeons and Dragons. It wasn’t the evening already, was it? Groaning, Steve tried to push himself off the floor, but that wasn’t until after he heard the front door open. Before he even managed to get back onto his couch—he hadn’t even cleaned a single beer can up—Dustin Henderson was in his living room. And he saw everything.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, small warning of descriptions of vomiting (via alcohol). I don't think it's anything too heavy or graphic, but it's still in this chapter so just a warning. anyway, another update woo! Can you tell I love the mother/son / brotherly relationship between Steve and Dustin.

            Steve wondered if he should have been grateful for the turn of events. Fuck, he didn’t want Dustin to see him so drunk he couldn’t even stand, but he didn’t want Hopper to see him either. The man had been worried about him, wanted Steve to confide in him, and yet there Steve was, drinking himself into a stupor. At least with Dustin, the kid didn’t know it was some shitty coping mechanism. The kid was at the age where people getting drunk was “cool”, right? It was just Steve doing an adult thing.

            “Oh shit,” said Dustin, Steve raising his finger to his lips in a “be quiet” gesture too late.

            “Is he alright?” called Hopper. It sounded like the man was still waiting outside. Steve locked eyes with Dustin, giving him an “okay” sign with his fingers.

            “Uh—yeah! He’s fine—he’s just sleeping. Must have been why he didn’t answer my call,” yelled Dustin.

            “Don’t yell, kid. What, is he on the couch or something? He really ought to sleep on an actual bed. If he’s asleep, I can help move him-“

            Steve shook his head at Dustin, dragging a finger across his neck in a cutting motion. The fear of being caught by Hawkins Chief sobered him up enough to have a silent conversation with Dustin.

            “Actually he uh—he likes sleeping on the couch. It’s a pull-out and he has a TV in the same room so like he really likes sleeping in his living room—“

            “Yeesh, I get it. Well, turns out he’s fine. Joyce is waiting outside and I already feel bad making her come drive over here so I’d have a ride back. Let’s go.”

            Steve let out a breath of relief, falling back to the carpet, the ends of his thick hair touching the strewn mess of beer cans. His ass wasn’t grass today, thankfully.

            “Um…I was thinking of staying here. Steve and I had plans for today anyway … and his car’s here now so he can drop me off whenever,” called Dustin.

            There was a brief moment of silence. “Alright. I ain’t about to drag you out of a house that isn’t even mine. Don’t stay out too late.”

            Steve heard the front door close—it had been open just a sliver for Hopper to hear Dustin—and fuck, that was not a situation he needed. The adrenaline began to wear off, the haze from alcohol slowly made its return. Steve found the carpet to suddenly be comfortable and his eyelids began to feel heavy. He almost drifted, but not before he heard the crunching of metal nearby. Right, someone was still in his house. Steve’s eyes opened slowly, the bleary image of Dustin holding an empty can coming into sight.

            “Didn’t know sleep-drinking was a thing.”

            Steve only groaned at that, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands. With all the strength he could muster, he managed to put himself into a sitting position. He grimaced at the sight of all the beer cans by his feet—shit, he knew he drank a lot, but he had been hoping the mess resembled any other teenager’s mess when left alone with alcohol. It looked less like the aftermath of a teenager enjoying freedom and more like the aftermath of someone trying to drink away something.

            “Sleep-drinking,” mumbled Steve, speaking slowly to not slur his words. His tongue was heavy and unresponsive. “Totally a thing … don’t try it though.” He licked his lips. “’Least wait until you’re older, old enough to drive a car or something—for drinking. Don’t do the two things together, though. Not smart.”

            Dustin began moving all the cans into one pile. “Dude, like any of us could get away with underage drinking.”

            “Wasn’t that girl in Nancy’s basement for like a week without the Wheeler’s noticing?” mumbled Steve. “And—and you shitheads have gotten into so much shit … that your parents don’t even know about.”

            Once all the cans were compiled, Dustin fell back onto the couch. Steve contemplated reaching out to be pulled up there as well, but decided against it.

            “El was quiet so it wasn’t hard to hide her. But we already get yelled at by Mrs. Wheeler when we play D&D for being loud. If we added beer to that, we’d definitely get caught.”

            Steve replayed each word in his mind, his brain still sluggish. Dustin had a point, Steve already told the shitheads to quiet down outside of D&D—he had no idea how heated the lot of them got when playing their weird roleplay game. And—oh, shit. Steve scrunched his eyes tightly, because he remembered the conversation from last night, the pseudo-promise he made with Dustin. Hell, promises carried a lot of weight in their little friend group—the group of kids had a different interpretation of friendship than Steve had at their age. Those kids probably already had some blood oaths that bound them all together—that was how close they all were.

            “Did I miss it?” Steve grumbled. He had no idea what time it was, and the concept of time itself was slippery in his inebriated mind. Still, Dustin showed up at his house for some reason.

            The kid stared at him blankly for a few moments until a look of understanding crossed his face. “What? No, asshole, it’s not even past 4.”

            “Oh … I thought you were here ‘cause I didn’t show up.”

            Dustin scoffed. “No, if a party member doesn’t show up, we assume they’ve been kidnapped. So all of us would have been over here, and then as per protocol, we would “kidnap” you back. The bags we use are me-sized, though. I don’t think you’d fit.”

            “Jesus, you kids need more adult supervision.” Steve paused. “Why did you come over, then?”

            “Well, I was at Will’s house ‘cause we usually do D&D at Mike’s, so I wanted to help Will set up. Then, the sheriff called and you mentioned dropping your car back at your house—dude, did you get a ticket?” asked Dustin, his iconic smile spreading. “Did Hopper kick you out of your car and—“

            Steve groaned. “No, that didn’t happen. Just continue with your story, shithead.”

            “Okay, cranky much. So, I called your house to ask you if you wanted to help set up, but you didn’t answer. Hopper then showed up at the Byers and said he was coming here to drop off your car, so I tagged along. Oh, your keys.”

            Dustin almost threw them, but Steve shot him a glare. The younger boy gave an understanding nod and set the keys on an end table.

            “And you just made the decision to stay, huh?” grumbled Steve as Dustin walked away, though there was no malice in his words. The kid returned with a plastic bag and began loading it with the scattered cans.

            “Hey, I totally saved your ass! And look, I’m even cleaning your mess. I’m a Grade A citizen,” retorted Dustin, puffing out his chest.

            Something in Steve’s stomach churned and—fuck. His body felt clammy and it felt like his throat was constricting. “Bathroom.” He’d make Dustin earn his “community service” boy-scout badge.

            “What?”

            Steve rose from the floor, gripping the couch as he tried to hold in vomit. “Bath. Room.”

            Dustin’s eyes widened as if he finally put everything together. He rushed over to Steve, helping the other to his feet while acting as support as they walked, because hell, Steve couldn’t walk straight. Dustin swore “shit, shit, shit” under his breath as they both headed down the hall. Damn, Steve was glad Dustin was somewhat familiar with the house’s layout. As soon as Steve saw the toilet, he retched. Dustin fled from the room, though Steve could hear the kid making subtle noises of disgust just outside.

            “My body’s trying to kill me,” groaned Steve. He knew he drank a lot, though he thought it wasn’t enough to make him feel so awful—but the consequences proved otherwise. His hands were white knuckled around the rim of the toilet as Steve tried to catch his breath. After a few moments, his stomach was beginning to calm. Feeling all the fight leave his body, Steve fell against the nearby wall, rubbing the sweat of his forehead. “My body’s trying to fucking kill me.”

            He saw Dustin peek into the room. “Pretty sure your body didn’t tell you to drink like the world was ending,” said Dustin. Yeah, thought Steve, act like the wise guy as if he didn’t squeal upon the sight of vomit.

            Then, as if it knew Steve was talking about it, nausea returned in Steve’s stomach. He cried out “fuck” before lurching over the toilet, wincing even though nothing came back up. A small hand patted him on the bag.

            “There, there,” whispered Dustin. Steve glared at the kid from the corner of his eye—bastard was wearing a shit-eating grin on his face.

            “Not funny. I could be dying, you know.”

            “After all that’s happened, I don’t think alcohol is going to do you in.” Dustin paused. “But you still look like shit. Like, if someone’s shit took a shit, you would be that s-“

            “Can you stop talking about shit, my stomach’s queasy and my face is in a goddamn toilet,” said Steve, grinding his teeth. He spit one last time and the nausea settled again, hopefully there would be a longer interval between when he’d need the bathroom again.

            “So … uh, what do you do to help when you drink yourself stupid?”

            “Get me water. Lots of it.”

*

            Dustin had helped Steve back to the couch while the teen worked on his glass of water. Steve knew it wouldn’t be a bad idea to eat something light, but his stomach still felt somewhat queasy—like it was on edge, and Steve didn’t want to knock it off balance.

            “Thanks, shithead,” Steve said softly as he took another sip of water. “You know, you don’t have to stay here and like … do shit for me. I don’t think I should drive you home, but you can call your mom or someone to pick you up.”

            Dustin fell back onto the couch next to Steve. “Nah. I mean, unless you actually want me to go. But if not, well … you didn’t have to drop me off at the Snow Ball, you know? Or lend me your hairspray.”

            Steve rolled his eyes. “That? Come on, kid, that was nothing.”

            “Well, to me, this is nothing,” retorted Dustin, gesturing to Steve’s slumped figure. “As long as you don’t throw up on me, I’m good. I mean, are you really asking to be left alone right now?”

            No, Steve wasn’t. Though, if he admitted it, it wouldn’t be for the reason Dustin would think. Steve could survive the aftermath of binge drinking as long as Dustin left a trash can by the couch, but he didn’t want to be alone. He was still drunk, but his loose grip on reality had tightened, and he felt vulnerable. He felt like all the fear he managed to stave off for the time being would come back at him in a second.

            “Fine, if you want to stay, you’re free to stay,” began Steve, “but what about Will? Weren’t you helping him set up?”

            “He’ll understand … I can give him a call. I’ll just tell him a member of the party was in need of support,” shrugged Dustin.

            Steve rolled his eyes. “God, don’t use those lame terms when you’re talking ‘bout me,” he mumbled.

            He wouldn’t admit to the warm feeling it created in his heart.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i told y'all no more than a week so here this is!! also, while I like the headcanon that Steve knows how to play D&D, I also like the idea of the kids teaching their teenage mother/father how to play. 
> 
> so just some info for this chapter, steve doesn't get a hangover because hey it's possible? I've gotten steve level drunk and was fine, no hangover or nothing. here it is.

When Steve woke up, he felt … _strange._ Not necessarily a bad strange—as soon as he opened his eyes, he just felt tired. Not well-rested, but not exhausted either—a tiny but tangible feeling of refreshment coursed through him. As clarity began seeping into his still half-asleep mind, Steve realized that his sleep had been nightmare free, but as he began remembering what happened earlier, he chalked it down to not being asleep long enough to even dream. He could hear Dustin shuffling in his kitchen—typically, just noise alone would freak him out, but Steve could hear a small sound of victory along with his fridge door opening, reassuring him it was just the kid.

            His stomach still felt a little queasy but it was faint enough to push into the back of his mind, especially since the rest of his body felt alright in regards to the binge-drinking. As he pushed himself up into a sitting position, Dustin reentered the living room, carrying a cup of pudding, freezing as soon as he saw Steve. The kid’s eyes darted between him and the pudding.

            “Raiding my fridge?” groaned Steve, stretching his arms over his head.

            “Uh …. No?”

            “You can have it. My parents bring some back whenever they visit—I haven’t eaten pudding since elementary school.”

            Dustin looked back down at the pudding, face contorting. Steve sighed.

            “It hasn’t been sitting in there since then, shithead.”

            Dustin gave a soft smile and a thumbs up to Steve, excitedly tearing into the pudding cup. He sat in the recliner adjacent to the couch, basking in relaxation. Steve held in a comment—something like how Dustin was easily making himself comfortable in someone else’s house—because hell, the kid stayed with him despite vomiting his guts out.

            And it wasn’t likely Steve was going to get any other company.

            Steve wasn’t a shy person—if he wanted someone, he’d usually go after them. Taking the path of avoidance wasn’t typical. When he dated Nancy, if he wanted to see her, he’d just climb up into her room to help her “study”. He’d do stupid shit when he felt insecure.

            Yet, emotions that existed outside of the high-school jock persona he crafted for himself? That was unknown territory. Loneliness, inferiority—they were fragmented feelings that Steve couldn’t put together or present to anyone else. Steve didn’t enjoy solitude, but he wasn’t eager to do what was needed to escape it. He was an idiot, or King Steve, bullshit, or a damn good babysitter.

            Lonely wasn’t one of his selections.

            “Hey, Steve?”

            Steve’s head popped up. “What’s up?”

            Dustin was poking his spoon contemplatively in the pudding cup, his eyes focused on the food during the silence. It wasn’t until he began talking that he looked at Steve. “Are you …. Are you okay?”

            And Steve did the only thing he could do in that situation. He laughed. It was restrained—not mirthful or loud enough to give the impression that Steve was mocking the kid. “I mean, for as much as I drank?—I think I’m pretty good.”

            It was because of unknown territory. Steve was raised on the principle of actions speaking louder than words, accompanied with a dose of childhood neglect. It was why he’d hesitantly agreed with Tommy’s grand idea of publicly shaming Nancy instead of actually trying to resolve things civilly.  It was why he left Nancy in the corner by their school after an argument—and why he reassured her it was okay that she didn’t love him. It wasn’t just the principle alone—Steve didn’t know how to make his words speak the way his actions did. Throwing a punch, spreading lies, screaming? Those were all things he could easily learn. But vulnerability—opening up? It was foreign to him.

            So he laughed and played oblivious to Dustin’s question. He wondered if his feigned ignorance was visible, because Dustin frowned and returned to his pudding.

            One day, maybe he’d be able to answer the question with honesty.

            Whatever day that was, it existed far away.

*

            Steve tried falling back asleep after that. He felt drained in a good way—his senses weren’t heightened to the extent where fear would keep him up. Still, sleep never came. He’d drift for a few moments and then wake back up in intervals of a few minutes, and after a handful of attempts, he gave up. Dustin was still relaxed in the recliner, finishing his second pudding cup—when Steve saw the second one, he cut the kid off. Kid didn’t need to spoil his dinner.

            “So,” drawled out Dustin, “are you still coming to Will’s? ‘Cause if not, I’ll need to get a different ride.”

            “Come on, I can drop you off.” The Byers house wasn’t far from Steve’s. For the most part, he felt okay—definitely okay enough to drive on an empty road for a few minutes. Steve would probably go under the speed limit, but he could get Dustin there.

            “Just drop off? Dude, come on—you said you’d be there. I mean, you don’t have to stay the entire time but …”

            Steve sighed. “Alright, alright. Just let me go freshen up, okay?” Dustin’s face light up as Steve rose from the couch. His legs were somewhat wobbly beneath him as he traversed to the bathroom. Turning on the faucet, Steve rested both hands on each side of the sink, looking at himself in the mirror.

            The thing with getting one’s face pummeled in weeks earlier was that people would grow accustomed to a bruised look. Steve’s mug hadn’t been pretty following his altercation with Billy, though all the bruises had healed since then. Thanks to that, Steve had more leisure with the dark bags under his eyes—regardless of how shitty sleep deprivation and paranoia contorted his face, the most recent image of Steve’s face that all his friends knew was the one marred with bruises. At least, Steve thought he had more leeway. He wasn’t sure if Dustin could tell the shadows on his face were not normal, or if the kid was tipped off by the sheer number of scattered beer cans along Steve’s floor. Maybe a mixture of both.

            Kids usually had no filter, and if Dustin’s friends were as perceptive as him, Steve would probably get concerned looks at the Byer’s house. He didn’t want all those eyes on him—wasn’t worthy of such worry. So, he splashed warm water on to his face, patted it with a towel, and then pulled out his mother’s concealer. It made him reminisce of middle school days when he’d get home before his parents, sporting some bruises after a fight. He’d run frantic as hell to the same bathroom, applying however much he needed to hide them. Once he got into high school, the fights were more severe—drawing blood and scabs that concealer couldn’t help.

            It helped that his parents weren’t home as often anymore. Though, Steve wanted to get yelled at. He’d rather go home to parents that were worried and mad than to an empty home. Instead, he would do nothing to hide the wounds on his face because his parents weren’t around and for the rare moments they’d be home, it would be in such a short time frame that there wouldn’t be a fuss over it.

            In that moment, as he looked at the bags beneath his eyes, Steve was somewhat happy he had to resort to the concealer again.

            *

            It was nearing six when Steve and Dustin piled in the car.

            “So, like, just start thinking of what kind of character you want,” began Dustin, buckling his seatbelt. “Will’s usually a mage, but since he’s DM, maybe you can pick that class? Or, if you want something true to yourself, maybe you could be like a Templar or Warrior or something—swing around a weapon the way you do with your bat.”

            “Let me guess, you already have your entire character planned out, don’t you?”

            Dustin scoffed. “Uh, yeah? All I need to do is roll for stats. That’s the worst part, you know?” He then elbowed Steve in the arm as the car backed into the road. “So you’re welcome that I told Mike to give you a second chance for all your stats.”

            Steve smiled. Yeah, still had no idea what the kid was talking about—and he was okay with that.

            Dustin kept talking about D&D until the Byers house came into view. It was nice for Steve to be there for something other than monster-hunting—well, he’d be there for fictional monster-hunting. As he parked the car, he already saw Lucas and Mike head up to the front door, Mrs. Byers already waiting with the door open, lighting shining through the doorway. Steve felt his cheeks tug, a smile crossing his face. The place looked lively and bright, and Steve felt almost enamored by the sight—it sure was something that the Byers house could look so comfortable despite all the memories Steve had tied to it.

            The sound of his car door opening snapped Steve out of his thoughts—Dustin bolted out and was already rushing towards the door, yelling “Mrs. Byers, I’m back!” before heading inside after Lucas and Mike. Steve stared at the front door for a moment and suddenly felt small. He’d been invited, but he didn’t belong. He was an honorary member.

            Grimacing, Steve got out of the car and walked towards Mrs. Byers, who was still waiting by the door. “They didn’t force you to come, did they?” she asked with a smile. “Dustin was over earlier and he wouldn’t stop talking about you—I didn’t really think this was your kind of thing.”

            Steve shrugged. “Eh, it’s really not. But I never saw myself as much of a babysitter, either, you know?” Joyce smiled at that, giving him a pat on the shoulder. She moved out of the way to grant Steve entrance, but then her hand returned to his shoulder, stopping him.

            “Oh! I wanted to thank you. I know it’s been a year, but I wanted to thank you for that camera you gave Jonathan.”

            Steve paused. “How did you-“

            “I only found out recently, just picked it up from a conversation him and Nancy were having. I was just … I mean, that was an expensive camera you got him.”

            Steve gulped—yeah, because he broke his last one. But he didn’t have the stomach to tell Mrs. Byers that. “Oh, no, it was Christmas. Season of giving and all that—it was nothing.” It was nothing more than Steve trying to make up for being an asshole.

            “Well, I just wanted to tell you thanks—not only for that, but for what you did for the kids, too. They kind of just … got you involved out of nowhere, but I’m so glad you were there to protect them.”

            Steve just nodded. His throat was tight because fuck, he didn’t deserve those words. Not from Mrs. Byers. He remembered her name being said in the same breath of Jonathan’s back when Steve was buddies with Tommy and Carol. He remembered berating her almost to the same extent as Jonathan—joking how she was off her rocker and other awful things he couldn’t reflect on. God, all the shit he said to Jonathan in the alleyway, and there was his mother, thanking him?

            He didn’t want to reject Mrs. Byers words—he wouldn’t be able to explain why and it would upset her. Steve was just silent, a forced smile on his face until their conversation ended and he was allowed to retreat inside.

            Then, he wondered what would swallow him up first—the demodogs that ran wild in his nightmares or the guilt. He’d keep the question in his mind to distract himself from the reality—the reality that both were consuming him whole.

**Author's Note:**

> check out my [tumblr](http://mad-top-hatter.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Please show appreciation if you enjoyed this, thanks!


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